Cotte D'armes
by Striped-Tie
Summary: Massive Disgaea 2 Spoilers. When life splutters into events of betray and distrust, over and over, one cannot blame a soul for seeking vengeance, bloodshed, and solitude. All wonderful beginnings can bleed out... True!Zenon Fic.
1. Walking On Vanity Ruins

A/N;

Oh ya, Spoiler Fic A-hoy~  
Just thought I'd throw that out there since I'm usually pretty adamant about avoiding spoilers in my fics. But you know, it's kind of hard to do with this since the main character's basically THE Spoiler haha.

Well my internet reached it's cap – And I've been very intrigued by Zenon's speeches and the Worst Ending of Disgaea 2, so I figured why the hell not.

I'll most likely drop this since I don't think I have the skills to do it properly, but it's nice trying (Maybe someone out there can give me some hints or ideas on where to improve/what to do).

Character technically belongs to Nippon Ichi.  
Italic segment's from Silent Hill 3. 'Walk on Vanity Ruins'.

* * *

**_In here is a tragedy, Art thou player or audience?  
Be as it may, the end doth remain: All go on only toward death._**

An assortment of harsh scraping sounds echoed around the floor, bouncing off the warm, crimson-coated walls. Three wretched noises chorusing, so simple in their melody yet so bone-chilling in their origins.

Breathing, every few breaths straining to intake the thick, almost wet air from around, rushing and sliding down the throat after each gasp and choke. In between the splutters for oxygen, so graceful was the rhythmic pace of the chest raising and falling, only disrupted by those drawn in rushes for air. Simply to recover, to provide more for the body – No gasps ever in regards to horror, disgust, let alone any pitiful sobs.

Oh, the shuffling, the limited attempts to keep footing on the ground and move forward. While the floor was solid and hard, a familiar, slowly cooling liquid was slathered practically from wall to wall, the shuffling feet only making the grotesque area look similar to a child's finger-painting trial. With every small slip and quick stop to catch themselves, the collective blood seeped to the few untainted corners of the halls. Shuffling past the carelessly constructed piles of corpses, past the ripped out innards of the previous inhabitants, hazardously scattered across the ground in a passionate frenzy.

They paused, breathed deeply, then continued. The loud, scraping sound carried on – Metal carving a crude line for the blood to pool. Two swords, drowned in blood and lingering remnants of crushed bones and once pulsating vitals.

Those two blades had torn apart more beings that one night than they had to each of their previous owners. Slaughtered, mercilessly, painting the mansion in a wicked tint. Pooling, tainting, dripping onto the clean white finish of the lower levels through the floors. The horribly intoxicating scent of death seeping through the cracks.

The wielder of the blades, dragger of the feet on the bloodied ground and breather of the shuttered breath continued to walk on past the unexpected assault that had been sprung. An assault launched by her, in the middle of the night, with no cause that could be seen by anyone other than herself. Caught in the moment of bloodshed, overcome with the anguish and need to release her wrath – Readily hunting for another to strike down with her will, senses alert yet…

She heard naught the sounds of her breathing and scraping – Her ears had fallen deaf some time ago, after the cacophony of agonized and fearful screams. After begs and whimpers, pleads for lives to be spared. After the repeated striking of the blades… The snapping of bones, tearing of flesh, muscle ripped asunder, whether by blade of by teeth. The rush of blood and the soft dripping of the marrow from the shattered and disjointed-

She shuddered, feeling a wave run through her body. Heart pounding, and the pleasurable chemical being released in her brain. Should she try and deny, or follow the impulse? Too long she had turned away, blocked out what she knew was true. Her god given gift to kill, to massacre, to beat down those who dared cross her.

"They all betray me…" Forgotten blood that had lingered in her mouth seeped past her lips as she spoke, dripping down her chin. She licked her lips, savouring the delectable essence that wasn't her own. She growled lowly, jaw snapping shut.

"Everyone I've ever known…" Hissed through clenched teeth as her feet began to drag again, hearing returning.

"… No more…" Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated. The sound of struggling, clawing desperately at the saturated ground. Trembling, scratching, panting and choking back cries of pain.

Then near silence. The pitiful, weak attempt to stay undetected as he, only slightly masked by the missing lights above, lay still. Hushed breathing, or so he tried, despite his chest having been cut open. If he could just get out, find help, he could make it.

"You cannot hide!" She screeched into the darkness, voice breaking from the overpowering hatred welled up inside, "Fool! Under this roof, I am your death!"

Her eyes focused in the darkness, glaring spitefully into it. There was no way out – And it was clear that he knew it, making no more attempt to escape. Just pitiful, wounded sobbing.

She stepped into the shadows, turning him over with her foot.

His face was covered in his own blood, and the blood of others slain around him. Tears streamed through the blood, polishing the thick liquid rather than removing it. Every time his body jerked to breath, more tears fell, and the organs protruding from the wound seemed to pulse.

Clearly, she should have pulled them out further when she had cornered him at the start. If she had, though, she would not have this chance now. This last moment to lengthen, make it last. Make him suffer. Oh, how the thought filled her with joy, playing in her mind. She hoped the memories would stay, and play back over and over.

She tossed her swords to the ground, preferring to truly get her hands dirty. She knelt down, moving a leg over his body and sitting over his hips. She dusted her hands on her shirt, a snide smile on her face. Leaning forward, she ran one hand over his injured chest, drenched in blood and covered in torn, tattered fabric.

"Please… No, Don't…" Such a pitiful request, barely above a whisper.

He would scream – She would enjoy it. She would make sure of that.

She opted out of taunting him, left he find some strength in defying her once again. She traced the open, bloody would, earning a shout when she applied pressure. Still not good enough, in her mind. Such a weak response would not hint the nerves, as if still going out of his way to deny. She pursed her lips, slipping two fingers past the pinkish, red-twisted

So sleek and warm, slippery and moving from her touch. Ever so hard to get, something not too unfamiliar to her. Her fingers twitched, and without warning, she drove her fingers deeply inwards, piercing through the thin outer-coating of the large intestine.

A horrible shriek, far too pained to hold onto the simply whimpers and murmurs of agony. The sudden, horrible inflaming pain, so excruciating, and so demanding for it cease. Anything, he would give anything as he screamed, not able to feel the back of his throat become hoarse over the unbearable pain elsewhere.

"Do tell me, does it hurt?" She purred gently, pulling her hands apart, listening to the underlying sound of tearing and the running of liquid,

"Don't do this, Zen, please…!"

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, grinning as the cries fell on her ears. Her grip loosened and she drew her hands out that tiny fraction. The unintentional illusion of hope as she took another deep breath, arching her back before growling deeply. She turned her hands, fingers gripping the bone of his rib cage that had been split apart.

She looked down on him, meeting his desperate eyes with her own - engulfed with malice and bloodlust.

She held tightly, and with a sudden swift motion, threw her arms back and up. The cracking and shattering echoing out into the air, down through every small crack and tiny crevice in the building. The blood and the likes spraying, adding another layer to the drying coats that already encased the wall – And everything oozed and seeped.

And the shrieking. The pained, dying scream that church bells could not drown out.

No intelligent words, just voice gripped by unbearable and incurable pain, begging for recover, for it to all be how it was two hours ago.

Dare she be poetic? She pondered for a moment, watching the man under her writhing in pain. She opted against it – She would leave his heart untouched, least some and analyze the bloody mess. Any cried of this being a fit of passion would anger her to another massacre.

The breathing became hindered, more so than it had been. A welcoming of death, perhaps, the only sure escape.

"D… Dammit, Why…"

The last pathetic wheeze of a question, and then it was over. Nothing but a hollow shell as the body went limp. He was dealt with, now. They had _all_ been dealt with, now.

She rose a hand to her lips, licking the red trickle of liquid from her fingers. Grabbing her swords, she rose to her feet, skirt caked in blood. She glanced downwards before flicking her view to the darkened stairwell at the end of one of the paths.

It was time to leave, she supposed. This floor, at least. Into the empty abyss that was the mansion, abandoned with the fresh corpses, soon to rot and putrefy. To be alone, until someone, struck with curiousity or a small link to someone within the dwelling decided to intrude.

"I will deal with them," Her voice dripped with the repulsion she felt at the thought, "If a fool comes close… They _shall die_."

"_I am Zenon."_

_

* * *

_

Stringy, wirey white hair splitting at all ends in any and all directions, sunken eyes and deep wrinkles. Shaking hands with bony fingers, weak limbs flailing as the energy to shout was found.. Even with a heckling voice, worn over the years.

An old demonic fortuneteller, calling and yelling too loudly to be ignored. Whether truth or fabled ramblings, the words shook the little one who was the target.

"The only thing that shall ever follow this child will be death!" The old hag wailed, swinging her arm close to a small girl's face, "Death and destruction! Heed my words! End the fiend's existence, before it's too late!"

The young child tightened her grip on her father's leg, closing her eyes and looking away from the shouting maniac. The shrieking mystic had caught her completely off guard, as she had simply been following quietly after he parents prior. Her mind in the clouds, wondering wistfully about the world around her, downtrodden by an unknown feeling in her chest.

But it had shook her further.

"Hush, Zenobia…." Her father soothed, stroking his daughter's hair gently.

Her mother simply sneered and laughed, amused by the old teller's fortune. "A child to bring death and destruction?" She quizzed, "And tell me, what exactly is wrong to ask that of a demon? Sounds simply like someone to walk the path of an Overlord."

She grabbed her daughter's hand and began to walk, the child's wings flicking in a moment of panic.

"When the world falls, you shall be one to blame!" The elderly witch yelled, staggering towards mother and daughter.

The mother struck her with the back of her hand, sending her crashing to the ground where she showed no sign of rising.

"Wretched idiot!" The mother growled, glaring viciously at the downed old creature, "Be gone."

Her daughter gave a soft short of surprise as she dragged her forward, bothered and annoyed by the played out events. The girl's father uttered nothing, casually following the two, but watching for any other individuals with shaky sanity.

As much as he'd love the thought of his little girl to be strong and ruthless, the cries of that with a dozen screws lose did little to scare him. Death and Destruction, what a _fool_.

* * *

A/N;  
It's 3:11am, so I'll probably be rereading over this and fixing it some time soon when I'm fully awake LOL. I, I need to sleep. So bad. I bet there are a LOT of stupid typos ;A; Please forgive me haha.


	2. Rabbit Heart

A/N; I cheated a little bit. 'Beithíoch' is Gaelic for Beast, I just googled around xD Part of me really feels like extending the story and posting it on Deviantart…

I would also like to mention this does my head in. Why? Compare Zenon in the English to the Japanese. In the English it's very audible how much she god damn hates everyone. She sounds more pissed and spiteful than upset. In the japanese, her voice is quite… Soft, it really emphasizes that she's wounded by everything that's happened to her. It doesn't play the anger so much as her hopelessness and despair of being so alone.

So yeah. Zen isn't proving east for me to work with D: But hey that's what I got myself into.

Also, I've been looking intro trying to play Phantasmagoria. Failing, I've been watching a Let's Play! On youtube. You'll see the scene that makes me mention this if you've played the game, or at least seen supposedly very controversial scene X3

I also realise that in the last chapter there's actually an unfinished paragraph. I'll fix that. Later.

IDK, reading over this again it all seems like nonsense :( I apologize.

Zenon/Zenobia technically belongs to Nippon Ichi even though they've given so little to work on D:

I just use 'Zenobia' for the sake of the fic xD

* * *

_There was a story some years ago of beast dwelling in the forest. It was large with many eyes, usually seen by children. Of course, these children very often disappeared. Those that made it home would tell that the creature had several rows of teeth, and an extra mouth across its stomach which opened up and snatched up those underneath it._

_To a child, it was so large it blocked out the sky, and its footsteps shook the ground. Many told of seeing their friends devoured by what was soon named 'The Beithíoch'._

_As the rumours began to spread, a mother took her youngest to the forest. She returned, but the child did not. She was met with good luck and soon received a fortune. Her household was blessed with brilliant health. She willingly admitted to giving the monster her child, as it promised her all of which she had received. Hearing and believing this, many townsfolk, beseeched by greed, began to sacrifice their children. The town prospered, although the young generation's numbers dwindled. There were bloodcurdling screams from the forest each night, a symphony of cried and shouts of agony. The sound of flesh ripping and blood falling echoed through the night air._

_A swordsman and his family soon moved to the expanding town, unknown to the Beithíoch's presence. His wife soon heard all of the talk from her neighbours, and began to think. Come only several days of being in the town, the swordsman returned home to find his young son and daughter absent. It was little surprise to everyone else when the sound of yelling and crashes were heard from the house._

_He stormed from the house, heading to the forest where the creature that murdered his children with the aid of his wife slumbered._

_The father was never heard from, and the outcome of the Beithíoch was forever unknown._

* * *

It was the wall of decaying smell that hit the brunette when she pushed opened the door. It was the lack of lights that sent shivers down her spine, after that. Cassandra had a mild familiarity with this house.

It belonged to someone she could somewhat deem as a friend, but considering the condition… She tried not to think of it. No, it was not this friend she had on her mind to begin with.

This house was often a place where someone close to her often stayed, and it had been some days since she had heard from him. As much as she'd rather not step foot in such a place, it was likely that he was here, for one reason or another.

Now her stomach was turning. The horrible stench she couldn't decipher, and almost unbearable to breath. She covered her mouth, taking a step into the hall as the door slammed behind her. The hall had very limited light from the sun outside, and she had to squint to make out anything.

And then she froze. Suddenly, she could make out all the forms, all of the colours. The walls were barely visible, painted in what she thought was to be grim and blood. Lining the walls, what would have been people. But the bone, the discoloured flesh and organs, it all argued that these couldn't possibly have once been living creatures. It was all too… Grotesque.

She felt as if she was just about to faint, but was beaten to it. There was a large, heavy slam to head, and she collapsed into a motionless heap.

The back of her skull ached, practically unbearable. So much so, it took her several painful moments to realise that she could not move her wrists. At least, nothing efficient. She need not open her eyes to realise that both her hands and feet were bound tightly, strapping her down on a hard, cold slab. Her head still pounding, and she could blood continue to slither down her neck.

Whatever had caused the damage had meant serious business, that much she knew.

"How was it we found ourselves in this mess? Forget it, I talk too much these days. Perhaps because I don't have a choke collar anymore."

She jerked her head to the side, yelping in pain as she did. What felt like barb wire pressed into her neck, and she felt more blood trickle. Not fatal, but she knew tears were welling up in her eyes.

It was Zenon that met her view, having taken quiet paced steps towards her. The screech of a wooden chair's legs rang out as Zenon dragged it across the ground, sitting on it looking almost too pleased. She held a silver platter on her lap, and Cassandra was unable to define anything the was on it. She felt herself gag before Zenon carried on.

"I got rid of that a little while ago. I feel as if I should be able to understand that term, to spread one's wings, but…" She shook her head, pausing and staring directly into her captive's eyes. "Are you hungry, Cassandra?"

"What the hell is going on?" Cassandra spat, trying her best to jerk her body for some form of freedom. She closed her eyes as the pain sheered in her body.

"I used to ask that, but you always told me to shut up. Whatever I was thinking wasn't important." She replied in a matter of fact tone, crossing her legs and lifting the platter close to her chest. "I find the hierarchy setup pitiful. It should be 'If I can beat in your face, I'm better than you.', and Cassandra, I assure you, I could."

Cassandra opened her eyes and stared back, blinking back tears. "What are you raving on about? Zenobia, please… What's happened here? Everyone… All I saw were bodies!"

"**Zenon**, Z-E-N-O-N." Zenon corrected, almost hissing the letters. "You act more outraged than believed. You didn't come to my home looking for me, did you? Of course not, what have you ever spared for me? You disgust me."

She cleared her throat, continuing on without allowed Cassandra to reply, "It takes every ounce of control I have not to beat you now. Of course, instead of beating me back, you bribe someone stronger to do it. You could never fight your own battles. Always slinking in the shadows to take what was mine to make it yours. Conrad doesn't even taste that that good considering the fuss you put up."

Cassandra froze, seeing a fire in her old friend's eyes. Although her words had since become calm, her eyes burned with a type of hatred she had never witnessed. Something about it told her she was not getting out alive, no matter how hard she fought. "… You, knew about that?"

Zenon ground her teeth in annoyance, glancing off to a corner as a growl emitted from the back of her throat. "How could I not know? Just because you think I'm stupid doesn't mean I am. I have just always been… Forgiving, but I'm sick of that joke."

She glanced down at the platter, before standing up and standing close by the slab. "I saved you what I deemed as the best cuts, however. Are you more partial to lung or intestine?"

"Zen, tell me you didn't…"

"I'm afraid I didn't have the time to marinate all of this. So there's no Sweet and Sour, or pickled anything. Everything's just sweet and juicy, right out of the corpse – No preservatives. It's good for you." Zenon said apologetically.

She carefully placed the platter on an empty area of the slab, enough from Cassandra's body that she couldn't rock and knock it. She hummed, an unnerving smile on her face. She picked up some of the dark red gunk from the plate and pried open Cassandra's mouth with her spare hand. The concoction had a wretched, half slush consistency to it, dribbling down her arm. "Looks yummy, don't it?"

She shoved the dripping concoction into Cassandra's mouth, who's system immediately went into shock.

"This seems to just be a mixture of everything, I couldn't quite define it. But the blood and soft chunks seem to be complimented by the texture, don't you think?"

Cassandra began choking, desperately trying to eject the rotten carrion from her mouth. The taste was so putrid, so horribly strong, nothing could make her swallow it. Zenon seems to acknowledge this, glaring, and shaving it down Cassanda's gullet with her fingers. She choked and gagged in response, as Zenon grabbed a more solid piece.

"Tripe, you could say." She hummed, being somewhat more forceful as once again she pushed it into Cassandra's airways. "You know, I heard that there was a time where banquets for kings were very extravagant. They kill several animals as well as gut them, then they would shove the smallest into the second smallest, and that into one larger. So on until they had stuffed several animals worth into a boar, then they would roast it. Part of me wonders if you could classify this the same thing, although Conrad was larger than you."

Cassandra couldn't hold back the tears. She thrashed her body around, trying desperately to escape, move out of Zenon's grip, but to no avail. She could feel her airways constricting, and her eyes becoming heavier as no oxygen was supplied.

Zenon continued to hum, grabbing several separated bits from the platter and jamming them with the rest. "Diced lung, pancreas, liver… Oh, and a bit of the heart, I believe. A real mix bag for you. I'm sure he would have mentioned giving you his heart. How _pathetic_."

Cassandra managed to spit, just the slightest amount. The bloodied gunk bubbled from the side of her mouth, and splattered onto Zenon's shirt as she tried once more to gasp for air. Zenon growled, tightening her grip on Cassandra's neck. "Oh come on, that's just _disgusting_, I thought you had more pride than that."

As if feeling jaded by the act, Zenon grabbed the platter and dribbled the remaining items in, shaving her thumbs in and pushing hard. No air escaped, no air got in, and Cassandra continued to thrash. Thrash, thrash. Then the struggle stopped. The blood bubbled and dripped, and Cassandra's eyes stared off blankly.

Satisfied, Zenon drew her hands back and shook the residue from them, rubbing her fingers on her blouse. Such a mess for a pathetic girl, but at least it had been fun. She breathed deeply, sitting down on the creaking, wooden chair and crossing her arms. She looked to one of the stone walls, silent for a moment, letting her thoughts run.

"I want so much to be alone… but I question whether such a mish can be granted in this overpopulated playground I call home. I am beyond running yet I still wish to flee." She sighed, shaking her head and leaning back into the chair. "I am not like the others, or is that a lie I've fed myself in order to shield the small part of me still living inside? I have no reason to define myself separately except in hopes that I do not hurt myself like everyone else."

"…How drearily I live on."

* * *

She wasn't a pretty crier. She was well aware of this fact, even at such a young age.

Perhaps it had been her mother's scolding or disappointed looks from her father that hinted towards it. Tears overflowing, swollen cheeks, red face… And dribbling substance from her nostrils. Unpleasant.

She'd taken to stuffing several things into her pockets to clean up the mess whenever her fragile demeanor cracked. Although, there was never anything she could do about the shaking knees, or trembling fingers, or bloodshot eyes that followed.

She'd known others to have near cute faces as they grizzled. The types that brought them some form of pity. Perhaps seeing a girl she knew receive comfort was her first strike of spite, although she had not acted upon it. No doubt she would have thought back upon this and wished she had.

She could not think at this time.

Her mind raced and heart pounded, and certainly did not look pretty for a small child. There was no ounce of adorable appearance in her terrified expression. She could not think - her hands were trembling. She could not daydream - because her knees barely supported her as she tried so hard to run.

Beithíoch, it would appear, lived. Whether because of the persistent legends, or just to spite Zenobia herself, it continued to linger in the forests. It was Tobias who had been told the stories by his father, and had told the group in Zen's absence. It had been Cassandra who thought up the plan. Sacrifices weren't entirely few and far between, but the quiet girl was useless otherwise.

Zenobia herself, so used to her outcast branding from her hometown, had jumped at the chance to be involved with anything. She hated herself more than she could imagine for being lured, to anger towards herself almost stronger than her fear.

It had all happened so quickly. They were there, then they weren't… But it was, and it was hungry from years gone by.

For the past hour she'd stumbled through the dense forest, ducking under heavy roots and weaving through the closely grown, tall trees. The leaves blocked out most of the sky, and normally she would only be able to see in patches. In such a panic stricken state, she could barely see a thing, feeling through the obstacles more than anything else. No matter how fast and hard she ran, the creature was always close enough for her to smell it's putrid breath. The smell of rotten bones and flesh between its teeth was rancid, barely something she could stand to breathe.

She just couldn't run any longer, her small legs giving out. She had the will, but no more energy, leaving her to crash to the wood's floor. The broken trigs and stray stones scraped her skin and bruised her face. She crossed her arms below her, letting her head rest as she heard the loud footsteps speed closer. She breathed deeply, just praying that her chest could stop hurting before she met with those horrible teeth.

Aw hell. Why not gather up some courage in her last moments? She had always wished to show the strength she knew she had deep down.

She lifted herself up, wiping the tears from her eyes as she saw it charge. Looking about quickly, she grabbed a sharp limb of a fallen tree, turning towards the stampeding beast. She closed her eyes, holding the branch against her body with the lower end positioned against a tree's roots. The sharp, juttered wood point forward and upright-

It rained down – A hot, sticky liquid that felt like it sheered her skin. She let go of the branch and tumbled sideways, trying to clear her eyes as she looked up. The Beithíoch, having run at it's full force, and become skewered on the long, strong branch, jutting out the other side of it's back and spraying down a show of blood.

Zenobia scrambled away, trying to pick herself up but constantly slipping. The blood was pooling from the beast, and the ferocious cry it let out made her ears ring. The Beithíoch, only tearing itself further before the branch dislodged itself from the roots. The wooden splitters divided the skin, pushing to the stomach.

Zenobia covered her knows, feeling her eyes stink from the stench. She felt blind and helpless yet… Some how satisfied that she had at least wounded her attacker. It was a small victory, one that would most likely be short lived.

She curled up on the red ground, sobbing quietly and staring wide-eyed, despite the burning sensation in her eyes. She saw the creature stagger, the acid and contents of it's stomach spilling out onto the ground as it tried to free itself of the foreign object stabbed through it's body. Blood and saliva dripped from its lips as it turned, spotting the little girl once more. It gave a deep bellow, as if determined, and raised it's claws up high.

She staggered up, just narrowly jumping back to avoid a deadly swipe. Her shook with more force than it had before. She felt her legs cement to the ground, even with new-found power telling her to run, fast.

It raised its claw once more, angered, and Zenobia screamed. She threw her arm downwards, turning away.

The leaf canopy above tore apart as a powerful strike of lightning rained down from the sky above – And the air filled with the smell of burning, singed flesh.

She fearfully looked forward, seeing burning leaves snuff out, and the brighter light seeping through the new hole in the canopy.

And the dead creature, whose blood and organs had dried and cracked from the blast. It twitched and writhed, slowing until it no longer stirred.

Her knees finally gave in. She collapsed, falling onto her side and wrapping her arms around herself. She brought up those trembling knees to her chest, then stared. The blood stained leaves and tree roots danced and spun in her vision, leaving her dizzy. Her chest was tight and both her stomach and throat were knotted. Her sobs caught in her throat, sounding like choked back hiccups. She couldn't breath, still racked by fear with the dead fiend beside her.

She pushed herself up, gasping for air, trying to fill her lungs to scream again. Her eyes gazed down at the bloodied, burnt mess. Into the abyss of the dead, brutal eyes. They stared back, to her very core.

Her body hitched, and she jerked forward. The hot, burning sensation in her stomach and throat. The sheer distress pushed her simply to throw up. Her body shook fiercely, and she dared look at the beast once more.

She felt the bile rise in her throat once again.

If she ever needed more proof she wasn't pretty when she was upset…

* * *

_The town appeared deserted by all except a traveler._

_It was said to be the town of the Beithíoch myth origins. The traveler watched from the hill at the town's entrance, whose gaze was only met with blood-soaked buildings and dirt paths. Small, fragile corpses were spread out in front of what would have once been houses. In the frostbitten air, laid out beside each other, almost like gruesome ornaments. Withering trees stood tall in the town, and not a single one remained without the bodies of the rest of the inhabitance hanging from them. It was for the world to see, and the sky was becoming crowded with carrion eating birds, settling for their prepared feast._

_Past the swarm of black and glow of red, at the other side of the town, the traveler spied a cloaked figure taking slow steps. A small one on their knees, trying to scramble away. Crying, begging, wishing to live._

_The raise of one arm, bringing down the red drenched blade in its possession. A motion more like bludgeoning than slashing, leaving the ground painted like its surroundings. The roar of a different beast sung through the once prosperous town._


End file.
